Numbers 21:4-9

When God rescued our ancestors out of slavery in Egypt, they spent forty years wandering in the wilderness. It was anything but a direct route to the Promised Land. They often complained about the conditions, thinking God must not care. It would have been better to stay in Egypt. The water is bitter. There’s little food. We’re thirsty. We miss eating meat.[i]

God sent manna, miraculous bread from heaven, a flaky white substance they gathered each morning. God gave water. God sent quail. Today’s text continues this theme. The people became impatient. “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food.” This time God sent snakes, poisonous serpents, from whose bites many people died. The people repented: We sinned by complaining. Please take away the snakes.

God did not take away the snakes. Curiously, God instructed Moses to make a bronze serpent and put it on a pole. Then, when someone is bit, they looked at the bronze serpent and lived. This is challenging story. God sends poisonous snakes that kill. God lets snakes stay, and they keep biting people. God has a bronze image made for people to look at. That sounds like an idol.

When the people complained about food and God sent manna, there were conditions. Manna had to be collected for each day not stored ahead.[ii] It taught trusting God to provide for tomorrow. When the people complained and asked for meat, God did not just send quail to feed thousands of people. God sent so much quail that they ate it for a month and got sick of eating it.[iii]

Walking in the wilderness was hard and intentional formation. God invested forty years to shepherd a generation from slavery toward freedom. The first part was exciting with victorious departure and crossing the Red Sea on dry ground. The second much longer part was hard as God taught trust, hope, and love in the wilderness with great challenges.

Being near a poisonous snake is frightening. Egyptians and others had serpents as gods. They are a powerful symbol. God did not take away the snakes. God provided a cure by looking up at one. Amid pain and death, God saves. God doesn’t erase pain and death but provides in the midst.

In our Gospel text, Jesus said: “When you have lifted up the Son of Man, then you will realize” who I am. Just prior to the famous verse John 3:16, it says: “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”[iv] The serpent in the wilderness foreshadows Jesus on the cross. Amid pain and death, God saves. God doesn’t erase pain and death but provides in the midst.

How do you identify with complaining, pain, and fear in the wilderness? God is mysteriously and sometimes confusingly present. God is with you in the pain, and God provides the cure. As they looked up at the serpent and were healed, so we look at Jesus on the cross. There Jesus sees and holds all pain and suffering. Nothing is impossible with God. In our wilderness this Lent, look up and trust the One who loves and heals.

[i] Exodus 15, 16, 17, and Numbers 11

[ii] Exodus 16:19-21

[iii] Numbers 11:18-20

[iv] John 3:14-15

John 12:1-8

This Gospel passage captures a moment in the close relationship between Jesus and two of his friends who probably know each other quite well: Mary of Bethany and Judas, the apostle. Mary and Judas could not seem more dissimilar… except for one thing. If we consider this Gospel scene “forensically,” that is, if we do some detective work and look under the surface, we can pick up some traces of evidence that inform the complicated interaction here between these three: Jesus, Mary, and Judas.

This is a dinner party taking place in Mary’s own home, a home she shares with her sister, Martha, and brother, Lazarus, three siblings with whom Jesus has the closest of relationships.[i] The back story is that a week or so before this dinner Lazarus had become very ill. Jesus, the friend and healer, was summoned, but he was slow to arrive. Meanwhile Lazarus dies. Stone dead. Jesus finally arrives in Bethany and is greeted by Mary, weeping. She kneels at Jesus’ feet in deep grief, imploring him how Jesus could have prevented this tragedy of Lazarus’ death had Jesus shown up on time.[ii] Now it is Jesus who weeps. And then Jesus acts. Jesus miraculously brings Lazarus back to life. It’s nothing less than a resurrection![iii]

So we move ahead a few days to the Gospel lesson we have just heard. Mary is once more kneeling at Jesus’ feet; however this time she has tears of joy. Mary massages Jesus’ feet with nard, which is a scented oil, a perfume used for anointing and for burial rituals.[iv] Nard is wonderfully aromatic and extremely expensive. The amount of nard Mary uses with Jesus was worth almost an entire year’s wage for a laborer. So this is a very demonstrative sign… of what? For one, it’s a public demonstration of the depth of Mary’s gratitude and love for Jesus; secondly, this also signals Jesus’ own impending death, which is how Jesus defends what Mary has just done. Then there is a third layer of symbolism about this anointing.

Though anointing was typically used on a body at death; anointing was also used for healing in life; furthermore anointing was used in royal pageantry for the enthronement of a king. The Hebrew word Messiah means “the anointed one.” All of that is symbolized in Mary’s subservient, extremely grateful act of anointing Jesus’ feet, and with her hair no less. It was a profound sign. Was it provocative, sexually? That has never been the biblical scholars interpretation. This anointing occurred in an open space, within a very close sister-brother kind of relationship between Mary of Bethany and Jesus, and it was witnessed by Jesus’ closest friends and apostles. Among them a scornful Judas Iscariot.

In Holy Week, which we soon celebrate, we will hear a great deal more about Jesus’ apostle, Judas. If Mary of Bethany is single-minded, with a pure heart, Judas seems completely the opposite. He is unscrupulous, scandalous, calculating, two-faced. Judas’ duplicitous reprimand of Mary is lost on no one when he chastises Mary for wasting the precious nard that ought to have been sold to help the poor. It is Judas who is on the take, and everyone knows it, including Jesus.

Mary of Bethany and Judas Iscariot could hardly seem to be more different. Yet they have at least one significant thing in common: their personal need. They both have been followers of Jesus. Why? We don’t know. And this is where we do not have a “back story.” We know virtually nothing about Judas’ and Mary’s families of origin. We do not know how they were raised, nor about their aspirations, nor about their strengths and vulnerabilities, nor about their reasons why they chose to follow Jesus as their Savior.

Both Mary and Judas would have known how Jesus began his public ministry by saying that he was fulfilling Isaiah’s prophecy “to bind up the broken hearted, proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.”[v] How did Jesus’ proclamation fit Mary’s needs? We do not know how she had been “broken hearted,” or “captive,” or “imprisoned.” Nor do we know this about Judas. We do know Jesus’ promise of salvation obviously had spoken to both of them. They both had had a desire and need to follow Jesus on his way.

But what happened to Judas? Why did he subvert his life to betray Jesus and go such a different way? We come up short on any explanation, which was true then and is true now. Why do people do bad things? Consider the appalling acts of violence and ignominy perpetrated by individuals down through history up to the present, including what appears today in our own media. No matter how much we know about a leader or perpetrator, we always have at least one jigsaw piece missing for us to complete the picture why he or she came to this. Why did this person set off on a path of deceit or treachery and with the tsunami of suffering and evil that followed? We never have the complete picture of other people, nor even of ourselves.

We planned our liturgy this morning to begin with a corporate confession of sin, as you know. We did not survey you in advance to see if this would be a helpful thing to offer you. We presumed it would be, this opportunity for us to confess our sins and amend our lives. It’s listed in the bulletin; you knew it was coming. We did the same thing last Sunday. For those of us who live here in this monastery, we have faced a similar invitation for confession of our sins every single day since last Sunday. Every day. Sin is so tedious. Sometimes it’s appalling. There are lapses every day, big and small. Don’t we know?

A century ago Simone Weil said “All sins are attempts to fill voids.”[vi] I find that quite perceptive. “All sins are attempts to fill voids.” What were the voids in Judas’ life? What was missing? We don’t know. What are the voids in your life? Even you do not have a complete understanding about the what and the why of your own life. Which is quite humbling. And it could be, or should be, quite humbling as we judge other people: both the people whom we are drawn to love and the people whom we are prone to hate. Jesus had seen something wondrous, some amazing potential in Judas which perhaps no one else had ever seen or known about him, maybe including Judas himself. And then Judas became a turncoat. Following his treachery, if Judas had not committed suicide, would Jesus have ever forgiven him?[vii] Of course he would. Look what happened with his fellow apostle, Peter, who also publicly betrayed Jesus.[viii] Jesus not only forgave Peter; Jesus said he would build his church on Peter’s leadership, the forgiven betrayer.

I was sharing a conversation with someone who was curious whether I had what they called “a personal relationship with Jesus.” They asked me if I was “saved”? “Yes,” I answered, “by God’s grace, I am saved.” And then they asked when I was saved, how long ago? I told them, “This morning, twice already.” I said, “I need a Savior every day.” Which is where the bad news precedes the good news. The good news of Jesus is that we are loved by God no matter what. For some people it will take a long time to know this. But God is not in a rush. God has all the time in the world – this world and the world to come – to save us from the hell of sin.

In the meantime, life on this earth is a mixed bag. Good and bad. Sometimes very good and very bad. Some days I am a victim; some days I am a perpetrator. You may know about that. And concerning the people we find to be a mean piece of work, there’s no virtue in denying it. In response to some people we may need to protest, rally, intervene, adjudicate, and shield the vulnerable. However, at the end of the day, everyone lives in a world that God so loves.[ix] Everyone is a child of God with whom God has desire to share eternity. And, even in times when we are confronting evil emanating from various quarters, we must also keep in mind – to keep at least in the back of our mind – that Jesus’ offer of salvation is not just for thems like us, but also for people whom we may find ignominious, who also need to be saved. Which is Jesus’ patient intent.

[i] John 11:17-44.

[ii] John 11:32-33.

[iii] John 11:1-44.

[iv] Nard is derived from the spikenard plant.

[v] Luke 4:16-21, where Jesus is quoting Isaiah 61:1-4f.

[vi] Simone Weil (1909-1943), French philosopher, social activist, Christian witness, and prolific author.

[vii] Judas’ suicide, remembered in Matthew 27:3-5.

[viii] John 18:15-18, 25-27; Mark 14:66-72; Luke 22:56-62.

[ix] John 3:16.

Feast of Saint Simon and Saint Jude

Ephesians 2:13-22

Today, one week before Election Day, is a day that I didn’t expect I needed Simon and Jude.

We don’t know much about these apostles—we know their names, and that early tradition consistently linked them together in mission to Persia and Armenia. We know that Simon was called “the Zealot” (but not what is specifically meant by this), and that Jude has come to be venerated as the patron saint of desperate or lost causes.

We don’t know much about them, but these small, memorable associations are somehow exactly what I needed today.

I’m sure many of us have felt, or maybe are feeling even now, a sense of despair—that we are going down a road with no return, that there will be something about who we are that is irrevocably broken. Here in the US, our major party candidates promise two very different visions of tomorrow—you may despair that the other side may win, or you may despair that neither vision speaks to the challenges that you and your loved ones face. I’m sure many of us feel like we’re facing one of the most desperate of lost causes.

And that’s just politics. Each of us bears wounds that others cannot see, tugging at our attention, drawing us to doubt our hope that we can become who we were created to be. For many of us, part of this will be about how we view our neighbors, with contempt or hate. If externally we face an ever-more-divided populace, internally, we can come to feel a division in who we are now and who we are supposed to be.

So what are we supposed to do?

We can pray, of course. We’ll pray for unity this evening. We Brothers will engage in a vigil next Tuesday, on Election Night, going from 7 PM until the last polls close at 1 AM, to pray for unity, guidance, and protection.

But more than that we can take the example of Simon and be zealous. But not zealous for a political candidate, or for an issue, or for a movement. We can instead be zealous for God. Which may sound a bit strange, at first. What do I mean by being zealous for God?

Fundamentally, what I mean is taking the God revealed in Scripture seriously. Taking seriously that God is a “faithful God, without deceit, just and upright,” as Moses recites in Deuteronomy (Dt 32:4). Taking seriously that God’s faithfulness remains from one generation to another,” as the Psalmist sings (Ps 119:90). And taking seriously that Jesus “is our peace,” that he can break down dividing walls and remove hostility and proclaim peace (Eph 2:14, 15). Taking seriously that our internal and external divisions are not permanent, that we as individuals and as a people are not irrevocably broken, that this seemingly most lost, most desperate of all lost causes is not in fact lost, because we take seriously that God is powerful to heal, to mend, to save. Amen.

Br. Geoffrey Tristram

Jeremiah 23:1-6  

In the year 1919, the poet W B Yeats wrote a poem called ‘The Second Coming’. There is a famous line in that poem which has resonated through the decades. He wrote, ‘Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold.’  The first world war had just ended, and it felt like chaos had descended on the world, with the breakdown of order, of stability, and of the traditional sources of authority. ‘Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold.’ For many, those words well describe our world and our nation today: The recent shocking attempt at an assassination, a deeply polarized and divided nation, a world filled with violence in the Ukraine, Gaza, and frightening weather patterns signaling a planet in crisis. ‘Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold.’

Yet these same words could also have been used to describe the land where Jesus walked. Not only was their land occupied by Romans, but worse, there as a breakdown of moral guidance and spiritual guidance from those who were meant to be their leaders, their ‘shepherds’.  In our first reading today from the Book of Jeremiah, the prophet excoriates the religious leaders of Judah, ‘woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture. You have driven them away and not cared for them.’ But Jeremiah then goes on to give to the people a prophesy of hope. ‘The day is coming, says the Lord, when I will raise up a shepherd who will shepherd my people. I will raise up for David a righteous branch and he shall reign as king and execute righteousness in the land.’  That day finally came, when Jesus was born.

And our Gospel reading today is one of the most marvelous descriptions of Jesus the good shepherd in action! It is only a very short gospel reading, but it is so visual, almost cinematic. The disciples have returned from a mission, and they are excitedly telling Jesus all about it. But they are tired and hungry, so Jesus says to them, let’s get in the boat and sail across the lake to a quiet place where we can rest and recover.  But as they crossed the lake they are spotted. ‘Jesus is coming!’ and the word spread like wildfire. And before long, crowds and crowds of people, hundreds and thousands of them, were running, hurrying, racing on foot from the towns and villages to meet the boat on the other side. I imagine those tired and hungry disciples must have groaned, ‘Oh no.’ Just when we thought we could get some peace and quiet…’ Perhaps they even asked Jesus to send them away. But Jesus, we read, ‘had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd.’  But in Jesus, the crowds recognized the Good Shepherd promised by the prophet Jeremiah, the one who will exercise justice and righteousness in the land. So the crowds kept coming, and they gathered around Jesus, and Mark tells us that ‘he began tot each them many things.’ For although they were likely tired and hungry, what they hungered for above all was a word of life, a word of hope, a word of salvation for their hungry souls.

In Mark’s account, we get this incredible description of all these people scattered all over the countryside, running from every direction, racing to be with Jesus. If you have ever seen Pasolini’s ‘Gospel according to Matthew’, there is a wonderful scene of hundreds of people running, jumping over rocks, like scattered sheep, racing to be with Jesus. It must have been quite chaotic! But after Jesus had finished teaching them something changed. The disciples, whose tummies were probably rumbling by now, reminded Jesus that the crowds were hungry. So, Jesus takes five loaves and two fish and feeds them all, five thousand of them.  But actually, Jesus had already fed their souls with his words of teaching – and now they are changed. This disorderly and scattered crowd of people running here and there, like ‘sheep without a shepherd’, are transformed.  And Mark describes the scene very carefully and in precise language. Everything is now calm and still. They are sitting ‘on the green grass in groups of hundreds and of fifties.’ Out of chaos Jesus had brought calm and order. With their souls fed, and now their bodies as well, they are sitting in safety and security and in peace, in ‘shalom’. For they had found their shepherd. Or rather, their shepherd had found them.

As I was praying with this Gospel reading, I imagined being there with these crowds and with Jesus. I felt within myself that deep peace which those people must have felt, sitting with Jesus their shepherd. I believe that Jesus wants to give that same peace, that same rest, to each one of us. In a world which seems sometimes to be falling apart, with a center which cannot hold, Jesus the Good Shepherd comes to us and says, ‘Come to me all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.’  In our monastic life, in this community, the most precious part of the day happens each morning, immediately after Morning Prayer. Each brother goes into his cell for an hour of prayer and meditation.  We simply sit there with Jesus our Good Shepherd, and allow him to still and feed our souls, and prepare us for the day ahead. I do commend this practice to all of you. It doesn’t have to be an hour – ten minutes, or as long as you can manage. Find a place where you can be quiet and still, and then maybe have a picture or an icon to help center you; perhaps a picture of the Good Shepherd, and allow him to gently restore your soul. Most recently I have been praying with that most beautiful of psalms, psalm 23, which we have just sung together: ‘The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, and leads me beside still waters. He revives my soul, and guides me along right pathways for his Name’s sake.’ You might find it inviting to do the same. Read the verses slowly, and imagine that you are there, beside the lake, sitting on the green grass, with the one who knows you and loves you.

For we have found our shepherd. Or perhaps rather, he has found us! Every day he comes looking for us, to save us, and when our earthly days are over, to bring us safely home. ‘For surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’

Br. Curtis Almquist

Isaiah 7:1-9

Our reading from the Prophecy of Isaiah is an 8th century BC version of what we are seeing every day in our own newspapers and online: a world, including our own homeland, teeming with conflict. For Isaiah, the players were King Pekah and King Remaliah of Israel; King Rezim of Aram-Syria; and Kings Tabeel, then Uziah, then Ahaz, and then Jotham the successive Kings of Judah.[i] For the life of me, I cannot keep it all straight – neither the political players whom we are reading about from the 8th century BC, nor our own present-day news stream: the historic territorial disputes, the ever-changing political alignments, often created by common enemies; the fracturing of treaties and goodwill; the political threats and promises; and the suffering of the innocent. Whether in the 8th century BC or in the 21stcentury of the Common Era, there are so many parallels in strife that span across time.

There is a word of hope buried in this Prophecy of Isaiah, hope for the 8th century BC which also pertains to us in our own day. Isaiah speaks an assurance in the voice of God: “Take heed, be quiet, do not fear, and do not let your heart be faint…” “Take heed, be quiet, do not fear, and do not let your heart be faint…”

These words of assurance do not mean that everything will be just fine. Clearly not. We do not escape suffering in this life. None of us does. I don’t need to tell you that. If anything, suffering takes on a certain poignancy for those of us who are followers of Jesus. You may remember Jesus’ saying that if we want to be his followers, we must “take up ourcross and follow him.”[ii] This signals the cost of our discipleship to Jesus. We are promised the experience of the cross: not taking up Jesus’ cross but our own cross. I imagine that every one of you knows about that: what it is to have been handed a cross in life – at least once and perhaps multiple times – to carry in life.

In almost the same breath that Jesus speaks about our taking up our cross, he also speaks about living in peace… but with a qualification. Jesus does not say we will know peace because all the political turbulence and terror will calm down. Quite to the contrary. Jesus says: “I do not give you peace as the world gives.” The gift of peace Jesus is talking about is from the inside out. Jesus says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give [peace] to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”[iii] Jesus lived in a time of cataclysmic political strife with the massive occupation of the oppressive Roman Empire, and with the political factions within Judaism being so very fractious and frightening. It is in this context that Jesus speaks of his gift of peace, peace from the inside out.

Jesus’ promise of peace does not preclude our suffering in life. Jesus clearly knew suffering himself. Nor does Jesus’ promise of peace circumvent our mortality, nor the diminishment we will likely experience as we decline with age before we die. Neither does Jesus’ promise of peace mollify our grief from those whom we have lost in life, nor our grief from what we have lost in life. Jesus says, “You will weep and mourn; you will have pain but, he adds, your pain will turn into joy.”[iv] And Saint Paul picks up on this.

The single-most prolific author of the Christian scriptures – the New Testament – is Saint Paul. Virtually everything that he wrote about following Christ was inspired by his suffering and written during his imprisonments. He writes about his floggings, lashes, having been beaten with rods, and being stoned. He writes about being shipwrecked and adrift at sea, about the danger from rivers, danger from bandits, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger from deceivers….” He writes of “toil and hardship, many a sleepless night, being hungry and thirsty, often without food, cold and naked.” He faces capital punishment, and he continues to write. [v]

In the end, what is he left with? Again in prison and on the cusp of being executed, the experience which he writes about, repeatedly, is joy. And in case we miss his point, he writes, “again I say, rejoice!”[vi] Joy is such a great paradox. For Saint Paul, suffering sets the stage for knowing joy: a deep sense of well-being and gratitude in life. One might say that Saint Paul is a little over-the-edge about joy, rather hyperbolic in an unimaginable sort of way… unless you have discovered how joy will so often emerge from and companion grief and loss.

Back to what we heard in our first reading from the Prophecy of Isaiah: “Take heed, be quiet, do not fear, and do not let your heart be faint…” This is about living life peacefully, but not about living life passively. It is not about taking the suffering we experience and witness in life with a saccharine smile on our face. But it is to say that when we find ourself powerless to overcome what we know to be wrong, or when we find ourselves suffering without promise of relief, or when we find ourself reminded of the imminence of our mortality, we are not left alone. We are promised Jesus’ provision of inner peace, his companionship, and his joy. As Jesus says, “that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.”[vii]

[i] In the Hebrew scriptures we read of about 250 different kings in Middle Eastern antiquity. Many of these kingdoms were miniscule in size; however the title “king” usually designated unrestrained power and the divine favor of whomever or whatever the kingdom worshiped.

[ii] Matthew 16:24-27; Mark 8:34; Luke 9:23, 14:27.

[iii] John 14:27.

[iv] John 16:20.

[v] 2 Corinthians 11:21-29.

[vi] See Philippians 4, particularly verse 4.

[vii] John 15:1-11.

Br. David Vryhof

John 11:45-53

The gospel passage we have before us today wraps up the greatest miracle story in all of the gospels: Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead.  Other miracles pale in comparison to it, but still, as is so often the case in the gospel accounts, the reactions to this astounding miracle are mixed.  Many of the Jews who witness the miracle come to believe in Jesus.  But others report Jesus’ words and actions to the priests.

Their report prompts an interesting discussion:  Jesus’ increased popularity poses a threat to the chief priests and Pharisees because it risks drawing the attention of the Romans, who, they fear, will crush this populist movement, destroying both their religion and their nation.  There’s no reason to doubt the genuineness of their concern for their faith and for their country, but we must note, too, that the chief priests and Pharisees derive what power they have from Rome, so the threat to their livelihoods, their influence and their social status is real.

Caiaphas, the high priest, has a solution:  Let this one man, Jesus, die for the nation.  The death of Jesus will squelch the movement, he argues, and it is better to have this one man die than to have the whole nation come to destruction.  The evangelist John is quick to point out the irony of the high priest’s statement.  Caiaphas is speaking from a political point of view when he speaks of Jesus dying for the people, suggesting that Jesus die instead of the people.  John, however, understands Caiaphas’ words from a theological point of view.  For John, Jesus dying “for the people” anticipates the voluntary offering of his life that will further God’s plan to save both Jews and Gentiles through Jesus’ death and resurrection.  He will die on behalf of the people, rescuing them from the power of sin and death, and obtaining for them the precious gift of eternal life.

John sees the Spirit at work here, revealing God’s intention through the words of the high priest.  God’s purpose is to gather up all the dispersed people of God – Gentiles as well as Jews – through this great work of grace.  John explains it this way: “[Caiaphas], being the high priest that year… prophesied that Jesus was about to die for the nation, and not for the nation only, but to gather into one the dispersed children of God.” (Jn 11:51-52).

John’s explanation here recalls Jesus’ earlier statement that he has “other sheep that do not belong to this fold” (Jn 10:16).  Its implication is that the kingdom of God extends beyond the usual national and cultural boundaries of Judaism; God is prepared to welcome “outsiders.”  In the same way, it implies that we may not limit the work of Christ to a particular people or organization, such as the Church, but instead must ask ourselves, “Who are the scattered people for whom Christ died in order that they, too, might be reconciled with God?”  John does not limit the scope of God’s saving grace, and neither must we.

Jesus’ opponents fail to see the power of God manifest in Jesus’ miracle – a power that is stronger than death. They also fail to see what it reveals about God’s purposes and design.  Instead, this miracle is the sign that pushes them over the edge: “From that day on they planned to put him to death.” (Jn 11:53).

Save us from a similar blindness, Lord, and open our eyes to discern the height and breadth and depth of your saving grace in our world.

Br. Jim Woodrum

Luke 23:32-34; 39-43

During Lent, we dedicate a considerable amount of time reflecting on our relationships with God and each other, focusing on concepts like repentance, forgiveness, and reconciliation. Repentance involves recognizing that we’ve deviated from God’s intended path for us and deciding to change direction (the Greek term for ‘repent’ is metanoia, meaning “a transformative change of heart”). Forgiveness entails releasing resentment or even the demand for compensation for harm caused. Reconciliation is about reuniting or coming together again after a separation. Despite the positive nature of these concepts, achieving them can be challenging. This difficulty often stems from a place of brokenness, encompassing damaged lives, relationships, expectations, and hearts.

This evening is the last installment of our preaching series “In the Midst,” which endeavors to help us know and experience Jesus’ presence in the midst of all that challenges and even troubles us. The theme of tonight’s sermon is “Wholeness in the Midst of Brokenness.” I’ve chosen to explore this concept from the vantage point of Jesus’ crucifixion in the gospel of Luke.

To begin, it is important to recall just what crucifixion was in first century Palestine. Crucifixion was a method of torture and execution used by the Roman empire against those they deemed criminals or enemies of the emperor. Victims were nailed to a cross made of wooden beams and suspended. This suspension made breathing difficult unless the victims attempted to pull themselves up by their wrists while pushing with their ankles, a task they couldn’t sustain for long due to the pain caused by nails driven through their joints. Technically, crucifixion was execution by asphyxiation which could last hours. When the victim was believed to be dead, the executioner would confirm this by breaking the legs of the remaining corpse hanging from the beams. Crucifixions were public events usually held just outside the city gate. They were intended to traumatize not only the victims but also those who witnessed the spectacle on their way into or out of town.

As the author of Luke sets the scene, he identifies the location of Jesus’s crucifixion as a place known as “The Skull.” At this place, Jesus is crucified between two criminals. Despite being associated with individuals deemed unclean or nefarious by the society of his time, Jesus had never engaged in criminal activities. Now, possibly due to misunderstanding and/or manipulation, he faced a criminal’s death alongside two men convicted of crimes against the Roman regime. Below him, the soldiers who had mistreated him—beating, spitting, mocking, and crowning him with thorns—gambled for his clothing as a memento of the event. These men were not Judeans but Romans; not adherents of the Jewish faith, but Gentiles, who likely knew nothing about this itinerant rabbi.

Adding insult to injury, one of the men crucified alongside Jesus started mocking and taunting him, saying, “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” This taunt mirrors the devil’s temptation of Jesus during his fast in the desert, where Satan challenged Jesus to prove his divine sonship, confirmed at his baptism, with demands such as turning stones into bread, throwing himself down from a high place, and worshiping Satan. Each of the devil’s taunts began with the words, “If you are the Son of God…” Just as in the case of Jesus’ temptation in the desert, despite his intense suffering, Jesus does not succumb to the mocker’s demands.

After exploring the historical context of crucifixion and reflecting on Luke’s narrative, we may wonder how to journey towards wholeness amidst so much brokenness. The key, as we discussed at the beginning of this sermon, lies in our Lenten transformation of the heart, mercy, and reunion.

When confronted with the first man’s scorn, the second individual crucified next to Jesus admonishes him. He asks, “Do you not see where we are? Have you forgotten how we came to be here? We are rightly accused of our crimes. How can you speak such things without fear of God?” This man’s expression of remorse signifies a profound transformation of heart, in stark contrast to the first man’s hardened heart, which remains embittered and resentful.

Bitterness traps us in a toxic cycle, addictive as any opiate. A saying often credited to St. Augustine of Hippo captures this sentiment perfectly: “Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.”[i]

The second man distinguishes himself by letting go of resentment and blame through metanoia—a transformative change of heart. Facing death in such a humiliating posture, in full view of his executioners, he implores Jesus to remember him upon entering His kingdom. Jesus’s reply is simple and profound: “Of course.” He sets forth no prerequisites for penance, seeks no reparation, and does not question the man’s remorse. Instead, Jesus assures him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”

In the thick of His own suffering, Jesus embodies compassion (“com-passion”: with ‘com’ meaning ‘with’ and ‘passion’, derived from the Latin ‘passio’, signifying ‘suffering’). To be compassionate is to suffer alongside someone. Jesus not only offers forgiveness and promises reconciliation to the man by bearing his sufferings; He shares in the man’s suffering, thereby intensifying the act of mercy.

Thus, the same applies to us when we approach Jesus, burdened by our sins. When we have consumed the poison of bitterness and resentment, realizing too late that it harms us rather than the intended target; when we hit rock bottom and the only way out is through metanoia—a transformative change of heart—Jesus does not merely save us. He compassionately joins us in our suffering. In this state of brokenness, Jesus offers comfort, healing, and salvation, promising that we will be transformed into the likeness of His resurrection.

Jesus assures us of reconciliation at that moment, promising that we will join Him in paradise. This notion of paradise harkens back to Genesis chapters 1 and 2, to a time of wholeness before we fell to the same temptations that Jesus overcame during His desert fast and upon the cross. Amidst our brokenness, we find wholeness by relinquishing our desire for control and accepting Jesus’ gifts of grace and mercy. This acceptance allows us to be reconciled with God, our Creator, and to experience the original state of wholeness in which we were created—a creation God deemed good!

Furthermore, recognizing that we are created in God’s image, it’s crucial to understand our ability to reflect God’s mercy and compassion to others, as demonstrated through Jesus. Amid His suffering, Jesus fervently prays from the cross, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” He doesn’t wait for an apology before seeking God’s forgiveness for His persecutors. Aware of the breadth of God’s mercy, Jesus intercedes on behalf of those who show Him no mercy—those unaware of the mercy inherent in their being as God’s children, blind to it and unable to embrace it.

How many of us respond with mercy and forgiveness when wronged by someone else? If you’re anything like me, your initial reaction might be driven by the limbic system. This part of our brain activates in response to perceived danger. Consider a moment when you narrowly escaped a severe car accident or almost fell from a significant height, risking serious injury. Perhaps you’ve been threatened by a bully or someone who does not regard you as someone worthy of dignity or respect. The automatic surge of adrenaline, increased heart rate, and flushed face are all physical reactions aimed at self-preservation, triggered by the limbic system. Commonly referred to as “fight, flight, or freeze” responses, our first instinct in such situations is not toward mercy or forgiveness. More often, we’re inclined to retaliate, flee as swiftly as we can, or freeze in place, hoping to go unnoticed. Seldom do we find ourselves reacting with the plea, “Lord, have mercy.”

Indeed, we possess the inherent capacity to forgive, as Jesus forgave His persecutors. However, embracing forgiveness is a process that starts with awareness and openness. It involves recognizing our own hurt feelings while, at the same time, being open to the possibility of the other person’s brokenness. Adopting this stance doesn’t mean excusing harmful actions but involves exploring the potential for achieving mutual wholeness by considering what God desires for both parties. This might involve creating a safe environment for a “difficult conversation,” or inviting a mediator to ensure both perspectives are fairly considered, especially when our limbic systems are engaged. Alternatively, it might mean releasing the other person through forgiveness even when reconciliation seems unfeasible. Forgiveness doesn’t always lead to a resolution, but it does necessitate empathy, compassion, respect, and dignity, paving the way forward. Disagreements don’t have to culminate in alienation—a crucial reminder amid strong emotions and feelings. The essential factor is acknowledging each other’s readiness to be vulnerable and collaboratively addressing the root of the conflict in a secure setting. If reconciliation is not possible, consider the possibility that all will be healed when we reunite with God in paradise.

I close with the words of the founder of our Community, Richard Meux Benson: “If we could live in such a perfect Church that there should be nothing ever to stir our indignation or make us angry with those that are around, should we be able to claim an entrance to heaven?  Oh no, we should have failed to exercise that in which alone the likeness of God could be found, the attribute of forgiveness.”[ii] This is what it is to begin the journey towards the possibility of wholeness in the midst of brokenness.

[i] https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/saint_augustine_384531

[ii] Benson, Richard Meux. A Cowley Calendar. London: Mowbrays, 1932. Print.

Br. David Vryhof

Jeremiah 7:23-28

If we were trying to come up with a theme for today’s lessons, I’d suggest the word “resistance.”

In the first reading, God reminds the Israelites of God’s generous offer: “I will be your God, and you shall be my people; and [you shall] walk only in the way that I command you, so that it may be well with you.”  But the Israelites very clearly don’t hold up their end of the bargain.  They do not listen or obey, but instead they walk “in their own counsels.”  Despite repeated pleas from the prophets, they continue to “stiffen their necks” and refuse to accept God’s guidance and discipline. Why?  Why do they return again and again to their old lives, refusing the new way of life God is offering them?

In the story from Luke, the theme again is resistance.  Jesus heals a man by casting out a mute demon.  The mute man speaks, and the crowd is amazed, but some challenge him by questioning the source of his power and by demanding further signs.  Why couldn’t they rejoice in the healing?  Instead of rejoicing and following him, they stiffen in their resistance and refuse to accept Jesus’ words and deeds.  Where does such resistance come from?  What were they resisting and why?

If we’re honest with ourselves, we can admit that we too, at times, find ourselves stiffening in resistance to something God is asking of us.

Perhaps we’re being prompted by the Spirit to forgive a person who has hurt us and to give them a second chance, but we choose instead to nurse our hurt feelings and stubbornly resist God’s invitation to forgiveness and reconciliation.

Or maybe God has been inviting us to change the way we are living.  It may be an invitation to take better care of ourselves or to get our anger under control or to give up some habit that is harmful to us or to others.  And yet we resist the invitation.  We continue to live as we have been living and discover resistance whenever we think about actually making these changes.  We carry on just as we always have.

Lent is a season that invites us to change, to repent, to turn around.  It invites us into a new and lifegiving way and challenges us to give up our sinful or unhealthy ways.  But it’s not easy to change.  Consider how difficult it is for people to carry out their new year’s resolutions.  It’s hard to follow through on a resolution, or to break a habit, or to form a new and healthier habit.

In their book Immunity to Change, authors Robert Kegan and Lisa Laskow Lahey try to understand why it is so difficult for most of us to change.  One part of their study focused on patients with serious heart conditions that were life-threatening.  In every case, doctors had warned these patients that unless they changed the way they were eating and started to exercise, they could expect to die very soon.  But if they could make these changes they could live on.  Even when the stakes were life and death, the majority of the people couldn’t or wouldn’t change.

Kegan and Lahey suggest there are underlying assumptions or attitudes that cause us to resist change and they encourage us to explore the reasons why we resist change.  Willpower is not enough, they say, we have to go deeper to understand what it is in us that resists this change, even when we know the change will be good for us.  Then we have to deliberately challenge our false assumptions and act contrary to them, in order to give ourselves a chance to change.

Lent invites us to metanoia, to a changed life.  It invites us to drop old and unhelpful ways of being to embrace a new and lifegiving way of life.  As part of your “self-examination” in Lent you might want to look at a part of your life that you have wanted to change or tried to change, but without success.  Think deeply and carefully about what it is in you that causes you to resist this change, and address the false assumptions that emerge.  God waits to help and strengthen you.

Luke 18:9-14

Just over 1600 years ago, a young couple dreamed a dream:

“One night we went to sleep, greatly upset, and we saw ourselves, both of us, passing through a very narrow crack in a wall. We were gripped with panic by the cramped space, so that it seemed as if we were about to die.”

This young couple was Valerius Pinianus and his wife, Melania. They were two of the super-rich of the later Roman world. They were also Christians. And at this period in history these two things, wealth and Christian faith, were increasingly at odds with one another.

Pinianus and Melania, along with many of their contemporaries, were uncomfortable with their vast wealth. They grieved what their wealth afforded them. The open vistas of estates, the splendor and ostentation, the luxury of free time, had become for them a “narrow crack” and a “cramped space.” They grieved the weight of wealth on their souls. And this grief prompted them to make an unprecedented renunciation of their worldly wealth.[1]

Grief comes to each of us in a thousand shades and hues. We experience a vivid spectrum of grief. As loss—of loved ones in death, of relationships, of direction. As missed opportunities, roads not taken, paths unexplored. As things we may never be or do because of what we already are or have done. As limitations imposed on us, or by us.

For what do you grieve today? For what does your heart ache?

In Lent especially, we grieve our sins. We grieve how we have denied God’s goodness, how we have partaken of all that is not God, how we have treated others as if they were not fellow children of God. We grieve how we fail to see ourselves as God’s beloved children. We grieve what separates us from relationship with God and others.

The tax collector in our parable from Luke’s gospel grieves. Unlike the Pharisee, he knows he is a sinner. He grieves his sin. For me, the most important detail of this parable is that the tax collector stands “far off” and “would not even look up to heaven” (Lk 18:13).

How do you feel grief in your body? Whether it’s grief for sins, for losses, or for paths not taken, how familiar is the tax collector’s stance to you? How familiar is it to separate, to close in on yourself, to make yourself smaller? How familiar it is to contort yourself to the cramped space of your grief?

But if this parable is about grief, it is also about how God meets us in the midst of our grief: with mercy. It’s about how God’s mercy can open up the cramped, narrow spaces onto new, boundless vistas.

During my recent retreat, I spent a lot of time on rocks in front of the ocean. The blue-gray water stretched out as far as I could see, merging at the horizon with the blue-gray sky, a vast sameness. It brought back my favorite line from Shakespeare—“My bounty is as boundless as the sea”—and I felt in that boundless bounty what God’s infinite mercy means. At the same time, as the waves lapped up on the shore, or crashed on the rocks, I felt what it meant for that infinity, that vastness, to care particularly for me—to be merciful to me.

God’s mercy covers us, enfolds us, sustains us, and gives us strength to persevere. God’s mercy allows us to be in our grief, to bear the narrow and cramped space of our limited lives, to face our sins and failures squarely.

God’s mercy allows us to be in our grief because it assures us that we will pass through it, to pass through that grief to joy: “Hear, O LORD, and have mercy upon me,” the Psalmist cries, “You have turned my wailing into dancing; you have put off my sack-cloth and clothed me with joy” (Ps 30:11, 12). “I will continue to rejoice,” Paul assures the church at Philippi, “for I know that through your prayers and God’s provision . . . what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance” (Phil 1:18-19).

“One night we went to sleep, greatly upset, and we saw ourselves, both of us, passing through a very narrow crack in a wall. We were gripped with panic by the cramped space, so that it seemed as if we were about to die. When we came through the pain of that place, we found huge relief and joy unspeakable.”

For what do you grieve today? Ask God for the mercy to come through it, and to bring you to the limitless horizons of joy unspeakable.

Amen.

[1] P. Brown, Through the Eye of a Needle: Wealth, the Fall of Rome, and the Making of Christianity in the West, 350-550 AD (Princeton, 2012), 291-94 (quotation at 291).

Br. Curtis Almquist

The Baptism of Our Lord Jesus Christ

Mark 1:4-11

Jesus and John have known one another since they were children. Today we remember their encounter at the Jordan River, both of them now about 30 years old. Their parents have talked to one another about their boys since before they were born. John is the miracle son of Zechariah and Elizabeth, who were old enough to be his great grandparents; and Jesus is the miracle son of Mary who “reportedly” conceived him through an angel, not with her husband, Joseph. John’s parents, Elizabeth and Zechariah, are Jesus’ aunt and uncle.

Jesus and John bear both the blessing and the burden of their destinies. Their lives were prophesied to be great: John was predicted to be the Messiah’s “advance man,” the Messiah’s “forerunner,” to set the stage. Jesus was predicted to be the Messiah. How can this be?[i]

The stories about angels and the miraculous conceptions of these two cousins are undoubtedly the makings for small town gossip and, I imagine, eye-rolling derisive humor, and people’s incredulity. If Jesus and John were supposed to be these bionic boys, why did they appear so normal and unspectacular, disappointing even? What would it have been like for these two cousins to grow up in each other’s shadows, most likely to live in close proximity, never finding their voices for almost 30 years, which is approaching old age in their own day?[ii] Their lives had been shrouded with such mystery, and speculation, and derision about their iden­tities and their destinies. Neither of them married. Neither of them was all-that-special, really, at least for men who were supposed to become so great. What did they know about each other? What did they think about each other? How did they talk to one another? We don’t know.

All we do know is that at some point John left home and headed into the wilderness. He begins living out his destiny in his own rather eccentric way. He preaches eloquently about repentance. Now he draws the crowds. He officiates in cleansing baptisms in the Jordan River for multitudes of people who come to confess their sins. John was living into his destiny, preparing the way for the Messiah. But the unimaginable happens. This one particular day Jesus appears on the riverbank, asking John to baptize him alongside all the other sinners. Jesus’ arrival did not figure into John’s choreography. I can imagine this was something of an identity crisis for John. Either Jesus, who is John’s cousin,was the Messiah, or Jesus was not the Messiah after all. In my mind’s eye I can see John lunging after Jesus, seizing Jesus by the arm and marching him out into the water, far enough so they could be alone, where John says to Jesus, almost in desperation, “This is for sinners! What in the world are you doing here!?”

John does baptize Jesus. Immediately thereafter there is the sight of a dove and the sound of a voice from the heavens saying, “This is my well-beloved son.” Jesus sees this and hears this. Do John and the others see and hear this? We cannot be sure; Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John remember this differently.[iii] Our Gospel appointed for today (from Mark) does not say that John and the others experienced miraculous dove and sound of the voice from heaven, but only that Jesus saw and heard this. Jesus leaves the riverbank and journeys on his own out into the desert. John labors on, baptizing, and, I imagine, wondering what Jesus is up to.

The early reports in the Gospels tell of Jesus’ returning to Nazareth, his home town, to teach the people. They were astounded. They asked themselves, “Where did this man get this wisdom and these deeds of power?  Is not this the carpenter’s son? Is not his mother called Mary? …Where then did this man get all this?” which is not entirely a compliment.[iv] They were not all taken in by Jesus. Quite to the contrary. The Gospel account says that many actually took offence at Jesus. He reacts saying, “Prophets are not without honor… except in their own country and in their own house.”[v] So it seems, many who were close to Jesus did dishonor him. And many who were distant to him, who knew Jesus was from Nazareth, derided him, saying “What good can come out of Nazareth?”[vi]

According to the Gospel accounts in Matthew and Luke, even at the end of John’s life (when he was imprisoned, facing execution), John might not have been altogether sure that Jesus actually was the Messiah. John summons two of his own disciples. (John still has his own disciples!) John then sends his disciples to Jesus, telling Jesus that John had sent them. They are to ask Jesus, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answers them, “Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”[vii] People did take offense at Jesus, even though the miracles did happen. Both John and Jesus die in ignominy: John was imprisoned then beheaded, and Jesus had a crescendo of followers, ultimately was abandoned, then crucified.

This is not nice bedtime reading. Both John and Jesus pay the ultimate price for being true to life destinies. All of us would want to be spared their type of suffering, yet we may find enormous help and hope in their life stories, in how our own life story overlaps theirs.

For so many people, perhaps you, it is so very challenging to figure out what your life is to be about. For many people, this remains a lifelong question. You may not discover your life’s meaning until old age, when you have the perspective of hindsight. Or you may have an answer in your earlier life, what your life is to be about… but then life continues to happen, for better or for worse. For reasons perhaps beyond your control you have to revise your life purpose and your sense of destiny. Along the way you might stumble or get lost:

Jesus knew what it was to be lost. In his adulthood, when Jesus finds his voice he teaches in parables. One of the recurring themes in Jesus’ parables is about being lost. I think Jesus’ parables are autobiographical. Clearly, they connected with a lot of people; however the source of inspiration for Jesus’ parables, including Jesus’ “lost” parables, was Jesus’ own life. It took Jesus, and it took his cousin John, so many, many years to live into their destinies, when they knew what their life was to be about, and how. And I think they both had to keep revising their life script because life kept happening.

The earliest followers of Jesus were not called “Christians.” They were called “followers of the way.”[viii] Jesus even takes this name himself when he says, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.”  “I am the way.”[ix]  Where did this notion of the “the way” come from?  Jesus certainly would have heard this phrase in readings from the prophets. His cousin John uses this language in his own preaching. He proclaims, “Prepare the way of the Lord.” What is this way? The Greek word for “the way” literally means “a road, a journey, a path.” Jesus is “the way,” and it moves along.

Jesus’ being “the way” may give you enormous help and hope as you try to keep finding your own way in life. Life is not going to be what you thought. Your life script will keep changing. And you will probably go through seasons of life where you are overwhelmed and feel lost: having lost your bearings, lost your direction, lost your meaning, maybe lost your hope.

The good news is in Jesus’ real presence. Jesus is God Emmanuel, God with us. And his presence is real: not imaginary, not hypothetical, but real, really connected with what is means to be fully human, facing the ever-changing kinds of things we face in life. That you face in life. Really present and in a real way to you.

Pray your heart out. Wherever you are, however you are in life, Jesus quite understands. Jesus is with you all the way: his real presence really present. Really. Pour out your heart… and then keep your ears open for a revelation. We also have the witness, the presence, the companionship of his wild-haired cousin, John the baptizer, who ultimately lived and died a convinced man: yes, Jesus, his cousin, is the Messiah: John’s Messiah and ours.

[i] A riff on John 3:9.

[ii] Conjecture is that the average life span in first-century Palestine was about 35 years.

[iii] Jesus’ baptism is remembered by Matthew 3:13-17; Mark 1:9-11; Luke 3:21-22; John 1:32-34.

[iv] Matthew 13:53-16:20.

[v] Matthew 13:54-57.

[vi] John 1:43-51.

[vii] Luke 7:18-23: “The disciples of John reported all these things to him. So John summoned two of his disciples and sent them to the Lord to ask, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’ When the men had come to him, they said, ‘John the Baptist has sent us to you to ask, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’ Jesus had just then cured many people of diseases, plagues, and evil spirits, and had given sight to many who were blind. And he answered them, ‘Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.’”

Matthew 11:2-6: “When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’  Jesus answered them, ‘Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.’”

See also Acts 19:1-7, 18-25.

[viii] See Acts 9:1-2; 19:9, 23; 22:4; 24:14, 22.

[ix] John 14:6.